"Holmes, shouldn't you take a break?"
He looked at me under sardonic brows. "As much as I might wish for the power to pause chemical reactions…"
"Aren't there any stopping points? Even foxhounds can't train nonstop; they have to eat and sleep as well."
"I'm a hound made of machinery. I don't need those things…much," he amended at my snort of laughter. He continued writing. "I do find it interesting you used the word 'train,' Watson. You know that's what I'm doing, don't you?"
"Yes; it's not a case, no client has been here and you've said nothing of a fresh lead. I know you're keeping yourself sharp, if not honing even sharper."
"Precisely; by no means is my mind at rest. Answer me this, then, Watson: why will we not unfold tomorrow's newspaper to the headline, 'Sherlock Holmes Spent Wednesday Night Experimenting on Cigarette Ends Collected at Regent's!'"
"No one alerted the printers."
"Pawky as ever. You know what I meant."
"Well it's boring. If the cigarette ends had started a fire and wreathed you in smoke and flame as you leaped through the exotic plants saving a child--that's quality material, Holmes."
"Watson." He turned to look at me, and his mouth was quivering. "My work may not always be captivating but you, my dear fellow, are never boring."
A/n: After I posted this I realized I might get dressed-down for making light of fires or children suffering or both. PLEASE don't take it that way. It's just Watson making up the most dramatic scene he can think of off the top of his head. *hides under rock*